Sweet Shadows

Her eyes, the darkest I’ve ever seen—darker even than Nick’s midnight blue—find mine. There’s something almost hypnotic about their cavernous dark. Which is a silly thought, really, because I’m the one with the hypnotic eyes.

I could use that power to get out of this situation in the blink of an eye, but I might as well let it play out first. Right now I’m only assuming I’m in trouble.

“We are only in the third week of school and already you have accrued several absences and tardies and you’re missing three homework assignments.”

“I know,” I say, trying to catch her off guard by agreeing. “I’ve had some”—I lean forward and whisper—“family issues to deal with.”

This is an excuse I’ve used many times in the last four years. Most teachers are sympathetic to complicated home lives—okay, maybe not most teachers, but some. This is the first time that the excuse is actually true. Back-to-back assassination attempts on me and my sisters and having my mentor/great-dozens-of-times-over-aunt taken prisoner definitely qualify as family issues, right?

Mrs. Knightly isn’t going to let it slide that easy. “Do you want to talk about it? Perhaps I can help.”

I have to bite my lip not to laugh. Yeah, right. I can just imagine the look on her face when I tell her that I’m a little out of sorts because someone blew up my loft last night, but not before a manticore tried to kill me. And that the boy I thought was just into me was actually sent by someone on one branch in the forest of family trees that make up Greek mythology to protect me because I’m a leaf on one of those branches myself, and in my spare time I hunt mythological monsters who want to kill or control the human population. Oh yeah, that would go over real well.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”

She studies me for a minute, probably weighing whether or not she should send me to the principal anyway for good measure. I feel a connection, something drawing me toward her. Like maybe I could tell her all the crazy things that are going on in my life.

Then she blinks and the connection is broken. I fall back a step, as if an actual rope has been cut.

“Consider this your final warning,” she says, her attention returning to the notes on her desk. She picks up her pen and starts writing. “Next time will earn you a trip to the office.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then, as quickly as possible without looking like I’m fleeing, I rush into the hall, into the between-classes crowd.

I can’t afford the trouble of a trip to the principal’s office. I never could—not with Ursula being a completely unofficial guardian and me having run away from my supposed parents when I was twelve—but right now it’s especially crucial I stay below the administrative radar. I’m living on my own in a safe house in a dodgy part of town, without a suitable guardian in sight. It would be a trip to the principal, followed by a trip to Child Welfare or, worse, juvie.

No thanks. I have too many responsibilities, too many people relying on me to do my job, keep them safe, and bring them home. I can’t afford any red flags with the authorities. I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep my nose clean and uninteresting to the powers that be.

The rest of the school day goes smoothly. After the close call in first period I get my game face on and manage to impersonate a perfect student in the rest of my classes. My history teacher even comments on my attentiveness.

By the time I’m pushing through the front doors, heading to Moira’s parking spot, I’m happy with my success. I just have to keep this up until all the current crazy gets settled.

“You look pretty proud of yourself,” a familiar voice says. “Did somebody get a gold star?”

I spin around and see Nick leaning against the outer wall of the school, right outside the entrance. Casual as ever. As if I hadn’t punched him in the nose and abandoned him at the beach in the middle of the night. Fine. Two can play the nothing happened game.

I ignore him and his statement and keep walking. My body may be excited to see him, if my racing heart and shaking hands are any indication, but my brain knows better.

He obviously doesn’t take offense, because he falls into step beside me.

“We need to talk,” he says.

I cut him a sharp glare.

“I’m serious, Gretchen.” His long strides keep up easily with my fast ones. “Can we go somewhere and—”

“Can’t,” I interrupt. “I have an appointment.”

At first I said it to give myself an out, but then I remember the coffee meeting with Sthenno. I really do have an appointment.

“I’ll come with you,” he insists.

I laugh. “Yeah right.”

“Look.” He grabs my elbow, yanking me to a stop only because I let him, and stepping around to face me. “Let me ride along. I’ll say my piece and then, when you get wherever you’re going, you can kick me out.”

I’m skeptical. With Nick, nothing is ever that easy. The idea of kicking him out does hold some appeal, though.

“Or you can just kick me,” he adds with a wicked smile, as if he has just read my thoughts. “I know how much you love that.”

I glare harder.

Can I trust him? He’s not exactly been forthright for the duration of our acquaintance. In fact, our whole history has been pretty much a lie. But what’s the harm? It’s not like he’s ever tried to hurt me, and if he ever does, I can defend myself. Besides, maybe I can get some more answers out of him.